


i swear i'm gonna cry (i'm sick of tryin' to be tough)

by avosettas



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Dream has wings, Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Sans | Dream & Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Sans | Dream (Undertale), Empath Dream, Empath Nightmare, Gen, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, Wings, dream doesn't take care of himself so nightmare will do it for him: the fic.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avosettas/pseuds/avosettas
Summary: “You’re in pain,” Nightmare argues. “Do not lie to me, brother.”“I would never,” Dream answers honestly, pressing a palm onto his ribcage right above where his apple soul beats steadily. “I promise I’m not injured, Night.”
Comments: 9
Kudos: 163





	i swear i'm gonna cry (i'm sick of tryin' to be tough)

**Author's Note:**

> my two biggest guilty pleasures are wings and nesting so,,, wingfic hours. i read a lot of good omens fic to figure out how to write preening lol

It’s quiet in Nightmare’s study. Dream lounges across the couch, back against one arm and feet stretching to touch the other as he balances a book on his lap, while Nightmare sits at his desk, hunched over an old tome. 

The warmth of the room always surprised Dream; sure, there was a fireplace, nearly always lit, but this was a world in perpetual night, and, currently, deep winter. Outside, freezing rain pelts the dead grass, ice crystals plinking softly against the windows. 

In Dream’s peripheral vision, Nightmare’s tentacles lay against the floor, occasionally wiggling from their base at his brother’s back to their tips, or simply twitching before stilling once more. It reminds him of the appendages growing out of his own back, though from his scapulae rather than his spine.

His wings ache, but there’s not much he can do about it. Instead of dwelling on it, Dream refocuses his attention very pointedly on the book in front of him, so that any negative emotions or pains he feels will be disregarded by Nightmare.

It isn’t really that easy though. It never is. 

Dream’s wings are small, just barely large enough to fly with. He shifts against the couch again, a distraction, but all it does is make the appendages hidden below his cape and jacket burn with a stabbing pain that he can’t hide from his more perceptive half. 

“Dream?” 

Nightmare has barely lifted his head, but his tentacles are moving now. They wave with his hidden worry as he stares at Dream with his single eye narrowed. 

“Yes?” Dream asks, though he knows playing stupid has never worked for him; it only works when he’s actually out of the loop. 

His brother doesn’t speak, instead placing a bookmark into the tome on the desk, and then moving to stand above Dream. Dream prepares to scoot forward to make space for him to sit, but Nightmare’s tentacles grab him before he can, depositing him against something much softer than the unforgiving, ancient upholstery of the study’s couch. 

Pillows, Dream realizes belatedly as the tendrils release him. Nightmare’s brought them to his bedroom, and it suddenly startles him how out of it he must be to have not felt the tell-tale swooping of his non-existent stomach when they passed through the portal his brother made. 

Has he allowed himself to fall so far back into his own head already? 

Nightmare’s cool hand on his face makes him jump, but it startles him out of his reverie. His brother has shifted onto the bed, letting Dream hog the pillows and sitting on the edge instead. 

He looks so _small_. Dream knows that he’s grown a bit since his release from his stone prison, but what of Nightmare? Has he grown, and the slime covering him simply grows with him? Maybe. But he looks the same - small and in pain, hunched over as his singular eyelight searches Dream for visible injuries. 

“Brother…?” Dream asks, reaching out with one hand. He tries to sit up, but it hurts too much. 

“Stop moving,” Nightmare orders, urging Dream back again. This has changed - before, Nightmare had been so timid. Now, he manhandles Dream into the pillows, leaning close to prevent Dream from doing something idiotic like hurting himself again. “Where are you injured?” 

“I’m not,” Dream protests, and Nightmare’s eye flashes with… something. He has a feeling they’re remembering the same thing. 

( _“Do you have new injuries today, brother?” Dream, so eager to help with his supposedly-clumsy brother’s injuries, so determined to make Nightmare happy._ So stupid, Dream had always reflected.

 _“I’m… no, I’m fine,” Nightmare would stutter in reply, taking care to hide the bruises on his femur or his humerus or his scapula or -_ )

“I’m really not,” Dream says, pressing his hand to Nightmare’s cheek as Nightmare had done to him only a few minutes ago. His brother’s bones have always run cold, but it’s the _slime_ that makes him radiate it, now. He doesn’t dare remove his hand yet, though, not as Nightmare slowly untenses and closes his eye at the contact. 

“You’re in pain,” Nightmare argues slowly as he reopens his eye. “Do not lie to me, brother.” 

“I would never,” Dream answers honestly, pressing a palm onto his ribcage right above where his apple soul beats steadily. “I promise I’m not injured, Night.” 

“You’re in pain,” Nightmare growls, and to anyone else it would sound threatening, but Dream only sees it for what it’s meant to be. Nightmare is worried about him, and he only wants to protect him like he wasn’t able to when they were little. 

“You know how you got these,” Dream reaches out a gently strokes the closest of Nightmare’s tentacles, as one would a cat. Nightmare shivers slightly at the contact, but doesn’t interrupt as Dream continues, “when, um… well, you know.” 

“Yes,” Nightmare bites out, grumpy at the reminder and the change in subject. Then, his face softens. “Oh, Dream.” 

Nightmare reaches forward and undoes his jacket, cold hands grazing Dream’s ribs slightly as he does. Then, he leans forward and eases Dream’s cape from around his neck, over his head. Dream shivers as the tentacles once again reach for him, seemingly of their own accord, and turn him ever so gently onto his front. 

He feels Nightmare shift a little further, and watches as he places Dream’s cape onto the bedside table, followed by his brother’s return and a tired, amused sigh. “Stars, Dream,” he mumbles, and Dream’s face is hot with embarrassment. 

“I’m, um. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, muffled by the pillows. “I mean, I didn’t tell _anyone_...” 

A finger traces the base of his left wing, and he’s startled for a moment, as Nightmare questions, “Why not?” Quieter, he says, “They’re hardly… anything like mine.” 

“...People kept…” Dream scrunches his eyes shut. “They kept calling me an angel. They always expected me to be so _happy_ , you know?” When Nightmare hums in quiet agreement, he mumbles, “We didn’t ask to be… this. I hate what we are, Night.” 

“I know,” Nightmare replies soothingly, reaching forward with a grunt to stroke his fingers across Dream’s cheek comfortingly. “...Try not to think about it, for now, brother. No one here expects that from you, and I know that you know that.” Dream nods. “Good. Now…” 

Both of Nightmare’s icy hands press against his scapulae. Dream gasps - he can’t help it, his brother’s hands are _freezing_ on his bones - as Nightmare slowly flexes his fingers to soothe the pain there. “You’re very stupid, brother.” 

“Night,” Dream whines. “That isn’t very nice.” 

“Don’t be stupid, and I won’t call you stupid,” Nightmare retorts. “I’m sure you’re aware, considering I’m always groaning because of it, but my back causes me a lot of issues, too.” Despite the vulnerability of the honest admonition, Nightmare’s eye still bores into Dream. “And that’s with them _uncovered_. Not to mention…” 

His hands switch gears, focusing on Dream’s left wing. It reaches down to about his ankle when he stands tall, and it’s only feathers, ecto-flesh and hollow bones, yet it feels so heavy on his back. “Your feathers are so matted. Haven’t you ever preened yourself?” 

“...What?” Dream asks. Nightmare seems to be trying to find the best way to tackle this; his hands prod at the base of Dream’s left wing, where the oil gland buried in the ecto-flesh weeps pitifully. 

“Combed through your feathers,” Nightmare clarifies grumpily. “Doesn’t this hurt?” A gentle finger pokes at the gland, and Dream flinches. 

“I…” Dream doesn’t really have an answer. He didn’t think the pain and the heaviness was… normal, per se, but he didn’t _know_ , either. He’s never been as smart as Nightmare, to just _assume_ something is wrong because it feels that way. 

Nightmare sighs like he’s annoyed, but Dream can see the fondness in his eyelight when he turns to watch his brother’s motions. “I’ll take care of it,” he promises softly, hands gentle on Dream as he settles himself as close as possible. 

Nightmare is cold against Dream’s hip, but Dream finds the pressure reassuring. Even more so is the weight of his brother’s tentacles when the extra appendages relax and settle down, laying themselves softly over and around Dream’s legs. Some of them curl around his bones idly, like they’re pleased, and Dream can’t help the contented purr that begins to thrum from his ribcage. 

He can’t actually remember the last time he purred. His bones rattle, even though it’s so quiet that it takes Nightmare a moment to pause in his continued prodding. 

“Sorry,” Dream squeaks, though it’s hard to stop the warbling the purr causes in his voice, and even harder to cease purring. 

Nightmare laughs, another sound Dream can’t remember the last time he heard. “It’s fine, brother. I’m glad you’re enjoying this, considering… how much pain you were in before.” 

He seems to finally decide on a course of action, one hand settling on Dream’s spine between his scapulae, as he uses the other comb through the matted feathers. It feels as if his entire hand is buried in Dream’s wing, and yet it’s slow going, his fingers meeting the resistance of molted feathers and broken shafts. 

“It’s like you have an entire molt’s worth of feathers trapped in here,” Nightmare murmurs, deftly prying unattached downy feathers from their prison beneath the only slightly cleaner flight feathers. Dream shrinks a bit, shoulders scrunching up in embarrassment. 

A single tentacle comes up to pet at his skull as Nightmare chuckles. It’s soothing, and really, this whole process is rather grounding for Dream. There’s a small pile of small, golden downy feathers gathering on Nightmare’s lap, yet instead of the dread of being lectured, there’s only the familiarity of being taken care of by his brother. 

Nightmare repeats the process on his right wing, the coolness of his body radiating only calmness and patience as he leans over Dream to reach it. The repetition is calming; Dream’s world shrinks to the feeling of his brother’s hands pressing on his scapula and combing through his messy feathers to find the molted ones. 

“I...missed this,” Nightmare mumbles as he plucks some final broken feathers from the right wing. Dream makes a questioning noise, and tries to sit up, but Nightmare pushes him back down. “I’m not done.” 

“Fine,” Dream sighs petulantly, settling into his spot once more as Nightmare begins pressing on the oil glands tucked near his scapulae. It’s a strange pressure, but pleasant, as if he’d been stretching a well-used limb. He has to collect himself before asking, “What do you mean?” 

“Taking care of you. Treating you as my brother instead of…” Nightmare trails off, and Dream hears him suck in a few shaky breaths as he smooths Dream’s feathers down once more, this time using the collected oil to coat them. 

When he doesn’t finish the thought, Dream suggests, “An adversary?” 

“...Yes.” He threads his oiled fingers through the ends of Dream’s feathers, closest to his brother’s femur, before going back and patting them into place once more.

Dream hums in response, thoughtful. Then, as Nightmare switches to his other wing, he murmurs, “I missed it, too, you know.” He can feel the contentment radiating from Nightmare, weaker under his heavy negative aura, but still, it’s there. 

Nightmare’s own purr kicks up as he works, to match the quiet, continuous rumble that’s been coming from Dream since his brother first began preening him. It’s even more soothing than his gentle, cautious touches; a final bit of tension Dream hadn’t realized he’d been holding all this time dissipates and he sinks fully into the bed. 

“...You aren’t in pain anymore,” Nightmare states as his hands release Dream’s feathers. The loss of contact is slightly saddening, and he’s sure Nightmare feels that little bit of disappointment, deep in Dream’s soul.

Dream makes a wordless affirmative noise, rolling over to face his brother. The tentacles that had been touching him retract only slightly to avoid being caught beneath him, before settling once again on his legs. Nightmare watches with amusement as Dream wriggles a bit, pleased that it no longer pains his brother to move. 

“You’re happy,” Dream finally replies when he’s done testing his new range of movement. Nightmare softens a bit at Dream’s mischievous face. “I can feel it, you know I can,” Dream insists when his brother doesn’t respond.

“Yes,” Nightmare agrees after a moment. He seems to hesitate for a minute - Dream can’t imagine over what, considering his brother spent a not-inconsiderate amount of time preening him - before he places the pile of feathers in his lap onto the bedside table, and then lowers himself onto the bed beside Dream. Nervousness rolls off him, despite his calm exterior, and even without his empathetic abilities Dream can sense it - he’s always been able to read his brother extremely well, even involving emotions his magic can’t feel.

“Is your back bothering you?” Dream asks, taking his brother into his arms without preamble. Nightmare is _freezing_ against his uncovered ribs, but he powers through his shivering simply by tugging him closer. “I can help, if you want.” 

“No,” Nightmare closes his eye, the blue light hidden beneath black slime. Dream remembers when Nightmare’s eyes were purple and hesitant, instead of cyan and icy. But it’s his brother nonetheless, no matter how his magic has changed. “My back is fine.” 

“Please let me know if it starts bothering you,” Dream says. “I’m sure if you can find your way around my wings, I can find my way around your tentacles.”

Neither of them acknowledge the silent promise that comes with that: _Trust me to take care of you, the way you didn’t when we were children._

“I will,” Nightmare agrees, and there’s a silent promise there, too: _I’m sorry I didn’t trust you when we were children. I’m sorry I let their words affect me in such a way that it broke us._

The promises remain unacknowledged. If one of them were to tell the other that they hadn’t failed, that both of them were at fault, then surely they would have to admit that they, themselves, weren’t at fault either. 

It’s easier this way.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @avosettas (18+)  
> tumblr @asriells


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